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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930350">Mr. &amp; Mrs. John Moore (aka Sara Howard Moore) VII: The Haunted House</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12'>BradyGirl_12</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mr. &amp; Mrs. John Moore (aka Sara Howard Moore) [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Alienist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Het, Holidays, Horror, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Series, Spirits, Suicide, Suspense</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:40:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26930350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara and John investigate a haunted house on Halloween.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sara Howard/John Schuyler Moore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mr. &amp; Mrs. John Moore (aka Sara Howard Moore) [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Yellow Ostrich Feathers And Hysteria</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warnings: Use of the word 'Gypsy' (chapter 3), Mention of Suicide (Chapters 3, 4, 6, 8), Suicide (Chapter 5)<br/>DW/LJ Dates Of Completion: May 22, 25, 27, 29, June 1, 4, 7, 10, 2020<br/>DW/LJ Dates Of Posting: October 18, 20, 23, 26, 29, November 5, 12, 19, 2020<br/>Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, TNT does, more’s the pity.<br/>DW/LJ Word Count: 806 + 1440 + 862 + 1185 + 1340 + 771 + 1056 + 1817 = (Total: 9277)<br/>Feedback welcome and appreciated.<br/>Author’s Note: All chapters of the this installment of the series can be found <a href="https://bradygirl-12.dreamwidth.org/4740399.html">here.</a></p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sara gets a new client.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>I</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>YELLOW OSTRICH FEATHERS AND HYSTERIA</b>
  </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>“Women need to be heard.”</i>
  </p>
</div><br/><p><b>Elsinore Getty</b><br/>
<b>American Suffragette</b><br/>
<b>June 6, 1896</b></p><p><br/>
Sara read the latest edition of <i>The New York Times</i> at her desk in her office.  It was a relief that the summer heat was gone, as it seemed to particularly gather in the rooms of this venerable old building, pressing down on the occupants like the inside of a cast-iron oven.  It was cooler in the fall, a boon to women in long sleeves and skirts.  Even men appreciated cooler weather with their suit coats and vests.</p><p>John was back from the war in Cuba and had settled down into his old routine, though she was keeping an eye on him.  War could affect men in different ways, even war correspondents.</p><p>A board creaked out in the hall.  Sara felt as if she ought to pay attention.  Private detective instincts, that’s what they were.</p><p>Footsteps in the outer office: light and quick.  A woman’s step.  Her receptionist and other agents were out so Sara stood up and went to the office doorway.</p><p>A woman about thirty-ish was wringing her hands anxiously.  She was dressed in the latest fashion: puffy sleeves, shirtwaist, waist sash, lightweight bodice and skirt, high-buttoned shoes with a sweeping, broad-brimmed hat and ostrich feathers.  The colors were pale yellow and white, a good color combination for this woman of glossy auburn hair and big, brown eyes.  She saw Sara and stopped pacing.</p><p>“Miss Howard?”</p><p>“Yes, how can I help you?”</p><p>“My name is Eleanor Biggsby.  I need your help.”</p><p>“Certainly, Miss Biggsby.  Come into my office.”</p><p>The prospective client followed Sara into her office.  She took a seat in front of Sara’s desk.</p><p>“Now, Miss Biggsby…”</p><p>“Ellie.  Though Miss Biggsby is fine if you prefer.  I just need to, well, it’s hard to explain.”</p><p>“Take your time, Ellie.”</p><p>“Well, I inherited a mansion in Cloverdale.  Uncle Titus left it to me.”</p><p>“Pretty nice.”</p><p>Ellie smiled nervously.  She took off her hat, touching her pompadour, and put her hat back on.  Sara noticed her nervousness and waited patiently.  New clients were often shaky.</p><p>“It’s a house that’s been neglected for years.  It’ll need some work.” The yellow ostrich feather bobbed as she shook her head. “More than just a little.  But it’ll be beautiful again, I just know it.”</p><p>“Well, that’s nice, Ellie, but why do you need my help?”</p><p>“I’m afraid that the house is, well, haunted.”</p><p>Sara blinked. “Okay.  Why do you think that?”</p><p>Ellie took her gloves off and wiggled her fingers. “I was in the mansion a few nights ago.”</p><p>Sara nodded.  She was not sure if Ellie felt embarrassed to be telling this tale or was just flighty.  She made a few notes on her pad of paper. </p><p>“I had gone to check out the property with my Cousin Edwin Frame, and it was late afternoon.  We entered the house and it showed signs of neglect: peeling wallpaper, cobwebbed chandeliers, moth-eaten drapes…the usual casualties.  Anyway, we were checking out the parlor when we thought we heard footsteps.  Edwin thought it was a tramp making himself at home.  He went upstairs and I waited by the foot of the staircase.  I felt trepidation for his safety.”</p><p>“Did he find an intruder?”</p><p>Ellie shook her head. “He searched every room.  He said it had probably been the house settling.”</p><p>“But you don’t think so?”</p><p>Ellie bit her lip. “Edwin went out to get a lantern from the carriage and I waited in the foyer.  I heard low moans and loud creaking over my head.  I glanced up the stairs and I swear I saw a shadow moving on the landing.  I was so scared I went outside and told Edwin I didn’t want to poke around the house at night, lantern or no lantern.  He was relieved, quite frankly, and so we left.”</p><p>“Have you been back to the house since then?”</p><p>“No.” Ellie blushed. “I was too spooked.”</p><p>“Well, that’s understandable.” Sara wondered what services Ellie was expecting her to perform. </p><p>Ellie twisted her fingers together. “Can you check things out?”</p><p>Sara put her pencil down. “It sounds like you need a spiritualist, not a private investigator.”</p><p>Ellie’s eyes were pleading. “Miss Howard, you have gained a reputation for helping women with their problems.  I have a problem.  It’s an unusual one, I grant you.” Ellie sighed. “My family thinks I’m suffering from hysteria.”</p><p>“Yes, it’s an unusual case, for sure.” Sara thought about it.  She detested women’s problems being dismissed as hysteria. “All right, I’ll take the case, but it’s a waste of your money.  There are no such thing as ghosts.”</p><p>“That’s all right.  I’ll just feel better if you investigate.”</p><p>Sara penciled in the new case on her calendar.  At least it promised to be an interesting one!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pine Grove</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Biggsby Mansion holds many secrets.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
  <i>A house</i><br/>
<i>Has its secrets,</i><br/>
<i>Quiet and deep,</i><br/>
<i>Yes, secrets</i><br/>
<i>To keep.</i></p>
</div><p><br/>
</p><p><b>Eleanor Standish</b><br/>
<b><i>“If These Walls Could Talk”</i></b><br/>
<b>1889 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
“Laszlo thinks you’re crazy.”</p><p>“Did you blab about my case to him?”</p><p>John and Sara were in their own carriage on the way to Cloverdale on a bright Tuesday morning.  They were treated to a show of color as the leaves turned on this fine October day, which just happened to be Halloween.</p><p>“Relax, there’s been no breach of client confidentiality.  I did mention to him that you had been hired by Ellie Biggsby but no details.  That’s when he told me he had heard stories about the old mansion.  People in Cloverdale think it’s haunted.” </p><p>“And you’re just telling me this now?”</p><p>“Well, dearest dear, would you have dropped the case?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>John smiled while Sara pouted.  That was the trouble with being intimate with someone: he got to know you too well!</p><p>“Does Laszlo believe in spooks?” Sara asked.</p><p>“He thinks all paranormal activity is in the mind.”</p><p>“Of course.” Sara cut a sideway glance at her husband. “What do you think?”</p><p>“I like to keep an open mind about things.”</p><p>She laughed. “How open?”</p><p>“Enough to bring as much equipment as I could think of.”</p><p>Sara thought of the box strapped to the back of the carriage. “You have anti-ghost guns, mayhaps?”</p><p>John smiled. “Maybe a few anti-vampire cloves of garlic, too.”</p><p>“Huh, I knew I shouldn’t have recommended Bram Stoker’s <i>Dracula</i> to you.”</p><p>“It makes a nice pairing with Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s <i>Frankenstein</i>.”</p><p>“Such reading material we have in our library.”</p><p>“Grandmother would be scandalized.”</p><p>“Yes, she wouldn’t consider those novels appropriate for a young lady.”</p><p>“Even a married one.” John clucked to the horses and Sara adjusted her white gloves. “The only novel she’s read is Lew Wallace’s <i>Ben-Hur</i>.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, <i>A Tale Of The Christ.”</i></p><p>“The only reason a lot of people read it is because of the religious elements.”</p><p>“Maybe he’s dong penance for his questionable conduct at Shiloh during the War,” Sara said dryly.</p><p>“Ah, yes, General Lew Wallace had the slows that day.”</p><p>“Didn’t most of the Union generals?”</p><p>“Sadly, too many, but we had Grant, Sherman and Sheridan.”</p><p>“Good thing.  I don’t fancy eating a steady diet of cornpone and grits.”</p><p>“Heavens, no.”</p><p>A stiff breeze blew, the leaves quivering and reflecting the sunlight.  The pair of matched black horses clopped on the road, tails swishing as John’s hand on the reins were gentle.  Sara admired that regard for animals in a man.</p><p>They skirted around the town of Cloverdale, heading directly to the Biggsby mansion.  A bronze plaque at the front gates read <b>Pine Grove</b>.  The iron gates were locked but Sara had a key provided by Ellie.  Once the gates were opened, John directed the horses up the driveway.  </p><p>Pine trees and balsam firs lined the road.  There was no splash of color here, and Sara thought it was almost sinister.</p><p>
  <i>Just imagination.  I’m going to a house on Halloween rumored to be haunted, so naturally I’m getting jittery.  Stay cool, Sara.</i>
</p><p>Gradually the mansion came into view.  It was big and rambling with a mansard roof and wisteria and ivy climbing up the walls, obscuring the lower half of the house.  The walkway was choked with weeds, and the lawn had gone to seed. </p><p>Despite the rundown condition of the house, it still looked impressive.  It could be saved and brought back to its former glory.  Ellie Biggsby had the money to do it.</p><p>“Hmm, not a bad old trap,” said John.</p><p>“Ellie has some good ideas.  She’s eager to get started once we clear the ghosts out.”</p><p>John smirked.  He unstrapped the box from the back of the carriage and carried it to the front stoop. “The place could use a veranda.”</p><p>“That’s one of Ellie’s ideas.” Sara stepped up to the stoop and unlocked the door.</p><p>Mustiness hit their nostrils.  They took in the damage of neglect.</p><p>“Huh, little wonder Ellie and her cousin thought this place was haunted,” John said.</p><p>“I know.  Very atmospheric.” She looked at the cobwebbed chandelier and peeling wallpaper.</p><p>John put the box down on the round table in the middle of the foyer.  He opened it and took out two lanterns with a flourish.</p><p>“What else is in there?” Sara asked.</p><p>“Oil for the lamps, guns for us.”</p><p>“Guns?”</p><p>“Hey, we could run into squatters, unless you think we’ll meet ghosts.”</p><p>“Spirits.”</p><p>“Manifestations.”</p><p>“Haunts.”</p><p>“Spooks.”</p><p>Sara laughed. “Is this vaudeville?” She took one of the guns and loaded it from the ammunition box.  John left the lanterns in the box.</p><p>“Lanterns?”</p><p>“Just in case.  Could have been a dark day.”</p><p>“Hmm, yes.  I hope you don’t think we’ll be here after dark.”</p><p>“I hope not, but who knows how long an investigation takes?”</p><p>“Hmph, you’re a fast learner.”</p><p>“I’ve got a top-notch private detective teaching me all kinds of things.” John winked.</p><p>Sara blushed. “Should I say the feeling is mutual?”</p><p>John smirked. “Now that I think of it, we better take one lantern.  Could be dark in certain corners.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”</p><p>“Neither do I.” John took out a lantern. “Okay, Ghost Hunter, where do we begin?”</p><p>“Let’s do a quick survey of the first floor and a more in-depth search upstairs.”</p><p>The Moores went through the front and back parlors, the dining room, the library and the kitchen.  The rooms showed signs of neglect but nothing unusual stood out.</p><p>They returned to the foyer and started up the staircase, the knob at the end of the balustrade coming off as John grasped it.</p><p>“Whoops,” he said, replacing the knob. “Watch out for loose floorboards.”</p><p>They climbed up the stairs and noticed a beautiful rosette stained-glass window that was dulled by grime but fortunately intact.  Sunlight managed to poke through the dust-laden panes, creating a lovely pattern on the landing.</p><p>They turned left.  The hall floor was dusty but in good shape.  Paintings and small tables lined the walls.  The vases were empty of flowers and the wallpaper had just started to peel.</p><p>The rooms were all bedrooms except for one bathroom.  Velvet drapes were dust-caked and showed signs of moths.  Bedspreads and pillowcases were faded and furniture was coated with dust.  The bathroom was dusty but relatively clean with its tiled walls and floors.  The porcelain, claw-footed tub and toilet showed very little signs of disrepair.</p><p>“See any spooks?” asked John.</p><p>“Nope.” Sara checked each room.  In the northeast corner room, she pointed. “Look, breadcrumbs.”</p><p>John went over to the bed. “Could be animals, but this pillow looks like someone slept on it.”</p><p>Sara’s fingers curled around her gun. “We might have a squatter here after all.”</p><p>“We’d better check the rest of this floor.”</p><p>John and Sara walked back to the landing and crossed to the other section of hallway.  They found more bedrooms, one a children’s nursery, another bathroom, and a sewing room.</p><p>“Scuff marks here,” said Sara in the sewing room. “And mud.”</p><p>“Could be recent,” John observed. “Whoever was here could have cleared out.”</p><p>“Maybe.  He could be Ellie’s ghost.” She walked out to the hallway and looked up. “Trapdoor to the attic.”</p><p>They pulled the trapdoor down and a ladder came down with a creak.  John climbed up and looked into the attic. “Pretty dark.”</p><p>“Do you need the lantern?”</p><p>“No, there’s enough light coming through the window.”</p><p>John disappeared through the hole and Sara wonder if she should climb up after him, but he called down, “All clear.” He climbed down. “Dusty but only boxes and other stuff you’d find in an attic.” </p><p>“We still have the basement to check.”</p><p>“Oh, glory.”</p><p>Sara grinned. “I can go alone.”</p><p>“No, I’ll come with you,” John grumbled.</p><p>They walked down the staircase and found the entrance to the basement in the kitchen.  They walked down the wooden stairs, which creaked ominously.  This time John used the lantern, but there was nothing to see but emptiness.  What had once been a wine cellar tucked away in a corner was also empty except for a few dusty bottles.</p><p>“Well, that’s one thing that does better with age,” John remarked of the bottles.</p><p>They went back up the stairs and Sara hesitated on the top step. </p><p>“What is it, Sara?”</p><p>“I felt a cold gust of air.”</p><p>“Well, it <i>is</i> a basement.  Damp and cold, right?”</p><p>Sara looked down into the darkness. “I know, but…” She shrugged and stepped into the kitchen, trying to ignore a sense of foreboding.  She quickly closed the door behind John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Green Onion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While enjoying lunch in town, Sara and John learn about the history of Pine Grove.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>History tells us</i><br/>
<i>That curses are</i><br/>
<i>Abundant,</i><br/>
<i>But not</i><br/>
<i>Forever.</i>
  </p>
</div><br/><p><b>Alexander Wickersham</b><br/>
<b><i>“Ancient Ways”</i></b><br/>
<b>1879 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
“So, what now, Madame Detective?” John asked.</p><p>Sara considered. “We should search the grounds.” She looked out the kitchen window. “There’s a stable and some other outbuildings.” John’s stomach growled. “Oh, dear, time to feed the hubby?”</p><p>“We should have brought a picnic basket.” John looked hopeful. “Maybe go to town for some lunch?”</p><p>Sara laughed. “All right, we can search the grounds when we get back.”</p><p>John smiled eagerly. “Let’s go.”</p><p>As Sara followed John out of the house, she admitted to herself that she would not mind getting out of here for awhile.</p><p>They took the carriage into the town of Cloverdale.  It was a charming New York state village, with Victorian-style houses, a town square containing a statue of a Union soldier with a list of honored dead on a bronze plaque affixed to the base, and a thriving Main Street with plenty of businesses and shoppers.  Some of the businesses had decorated modestly for Halloween.  One of those businesses, <i>The Green Onion Café,</i> was serving lunch, so the Moores entered the green-and-white building to the jingle of tiny bells over the door. </p><p>“Welcome, folks,” said a perky young blond woman in a uniform of green dress and white apron and cap. “Take a seat anywhere.  I’ll be with you in a minute.”</p><p>There were pumpkins on the counter and cut-outs of Witches and ghosts decorating the walls.  John and Sara chose a table by the window and studied the menu listed on the chalkboard on the wall behind the counter.  The waitress came over and asked, “Would you like coffee or tea?  We also have lemonade and Coca-Cola.”</p><p>“Tea, please,” said Sara.</p><p>“I’ll have the Coke,” said John.</p><p>“All right.  May I recommend the chicken salad today?  We serve it on freshly-baked bread with a dill pickle on the side.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” John said.</p><p>“Make it two,” added Sara.</p><p>“Coming right up.” The waitress went into the kitchen.</p><p>“Wonder why it’s called <i>The Green Onion?”</i> John asked.</p><p>“Have to call it something.”</p><p>He looked out the window. “Ellie and Edwin must have let their imaginations go wild.  The house is old and musty, but I don’t see it as a spook show.”</p><p>“Of course not.  The poor girl is easily suggestible, though I wouldn’t diagnose her as hysterical.”</p><p>“Edwin, too.”</p><p>“Well, that’s so.” Sara removed her gloves.</p><p>“This is an easy case for you.”</p><p>“I told Ellie she was wasting her money.”</p><p>“Her money to waste.”</p><p>The waitress arrived with their food and drinks. “Enjoy.”</p><p>“Thank you, Miss…” said John.</p><p>“Merry Christmas.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“That’s my name.  My family name is Christmas, first name Merry.”</p><p>“Oh.” John looked amused. “What’s a girl named Merry Christmas working in a place called <i>The Green Onion Café?</i>  Shouldn’t it be called <i>The North Pole</i> or something?”</p><p>“I’m saving up to open my own place, and it will be called <i>Santa's Workshop.”</i></p><p>“That’s wonderful,” Sara said. “Always fine to see a female business owner.”</p><p>“Well, I still have a way to go.  Funds, you know.”</p><p>“Well, Miss Christmas, I know of an organization that aids ambitious female entrepreneurs.  Contact Miss Ames.” Sara handed Merry a card. </p><p>“Why, thank you, Miss.” Merry eagerly took the card.</p><p>“Merry, do you know the history of the Biggsby Mansion?  We’ve heard so much about it,” said John.</p><p><i>"Pine Grove?</i>  You’d best stay away from there.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“If you’ve heard about it, you know it’s haunted.”</p><p>“Everybody thinks so?” Sara asked.</p><p>“Oh, yes.”</p><p>“What’s the story?”</p><p>“Oh, they say the family was cursed, about a hundred years ago.  The original house burned down so they rebuilt.”</p><p>“What’s the curse?” John asked.</p><p>“Well, some old woman cursed Jedediah Biggsby to have misfortune for leading the charge of the good folk of Cloverdale against her.”</p><p>“Why was there a charge?”</p><p>“She was a Gypsy, telling fortunes and stuff, and Jedediah stirred people up against her.”</p><p>“If she was a Gypsy, I can see the curse.” John sipped his Coke.</p><p>“’Misfortune’ covers a lot,” said Sara.</p><p>“Up until then the family had been pretty lucky.  Then things started happening.”</p><p>“Like what?” John asked.</p><p>Merry glanced around.  The café was empty. “Jedediah’s youngest son Darrow drowned in a boating accident, and then his sister Emily…she committed suicide by hanging herself from an oak tree in the backyard.  The old man lost a large portion of his fortune in bad investments, and then he lost two more sons in the War.”   </p><p>“Goodness,” Sara said.</p><p>“More like evil,” said Merry sadly. “The bad luck continued with his descendants.  The last owner, Titus Biggsby, died of a mysterious ailment just recently.  We don’t know who inherited the house.”</p><p>“Thank you, Merry,” John said, and she went back to her kitchen.</p><p>“Well,” Sara said, taking a bite of her pickle.</p><p>“Yes.” John picked up his sandwich. “No shortage of ghosts in that family.” He took a bite. “Ah.”</p><p>“Ah, what?”</p><p>“I know where the green onions are.”</p><p>Sara took a bite of her sandwich. “Goes well with chicken salad.”</p><p>John smiled.</p><p>In the distance, thunder rumbled.</p>
<p></p><div class="center"></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Seance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sara and John find a journal that proves to be rather interesting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>“Spirits roam house and home, just waiting to pounce.”</i>
  </p>
</div><br/><p><b>Adelaide Clarkwell</b><br/>
<b>American Spiritualist/Medium</b><br/>
<b>October 1, 1896</b></p><p><br/>
After lunch John and Sara returned to <i>Pine Grove.</i>  The clap of thunder heard earlier had been the only indication of any stormy weather approaching.  The day was still bright and clear.</p><p>“So, the stables next?” John asked.</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>John went into the house and got both lanterns.  He led the horses to the stables.</p><p>“They had their feedbags in town, but I’d like to give them a break from the harness.”</p><p>Sara patted one of the horses. “I’m sure Bert and Ernie will appreciate it.” She regarded her husband with affection.  His concern for animals and children touched her heart.</p><p>They searched the stables and found nothing, so they unharnessed the team and went outside.</p><p>“Looks like a barn and greenhouse over that way,” Sara said, indicating the buildings with a wave of her hand.</p><p>“Okay, let’s go.”</p><p>They searched the barn, green house, a potting shed, a smokehouse and a small cottage.</p><p>“Probably for the gardener,” Sara observed. “The grooms lived above the stables.”</p><p>It was a charming little cottage, the furniture handmade and the faded curtains and bedspread had once been bright with floral patterns.</p><p>“Nice place,” observed John.</p><p>“Definitely not haunted.”</p><p>He smiled. “Well, more like a fairy tale.” He surveyed the small parlor. “Anyplace else to check out?”</p><p>“I don’t think so.”</p><p>They left the cottage.  They reached a garden that was wildly overgrown, weeds choking the flowerbeds and vines climbing around the railing of the gazebo.</p><p>“Whew, a gardener would have job security cleaning this place up.”</p><p>“No doubt.” Sara watched a crow jumping around on the gazebo roof.</p><p>“All this place needs is a vulture.”</p><p>“Ha!  Come on, Bram Stoker, let’s get back to the house.”</p><p>John followed his wife as she walked with purpose toward the mansion.  They went inside and Sara said, “I’d like to search the library again.”</p><p>“All right.”</p><p>Sara scanned the bookcase. “I thought I saw…yes, here it is.” She drew out a book. “It’s a journal.”</p><p>“A journal?”</p><p>“Yes.” She opened it and began reading. “It looks like it was written by someone named Abigail Biggsby.” She read quickly. “She’s a niece of Jedediah Biggsby.  She recounts the tragedies of the family.  Merry wasn’t kidding.  That Gypsy woman really put the evil eye on them.”</p><p>“How charming.”</p><p>Sara smiled. “Anyway, I can see why Ellie and Edwin were so ready to believe the place was haunted.  If I had a family history like this, I’d be summoning a spiritualist.” She turned the pages quickly. “Murders, suicides, accidents…Laszlo would have a field day with the ramifications of all this on the psyche of the descendants.”   </p><p>“You’re right, I would like to hear what Laszlo would have to say about all this.”</p><p>“Listen to this: <i>‘Today I attended the funeral of Cousin Esther.  She fell off Ethan’s Cliff last week.  Just another tragedy for this accursed family’.”</i></p><p>“Wow.  What is this, the House of Usher?”</p><p>“Consider yourself lucky you’re a Moore.” Sara bit her lip, suddenly remembering that John’s brother had drowned.</p><p>“Well, we all have skeletons in our closet.”</p><p>She thought of her father’s suicide and felt slightly nauseous.  John looked stricken and Sara said, “Shall I continue?”</p><p>“Yes, please,” John said, sounding regretful.</p><p>Relax, John, we both botched that one.</p><p>She continued to read and they discussed Abigail’s thoughts. “She was suffering from nerves.”</p><p>“Gee, I wonder why.”</p><p>They sat down on the dusty couch and Sara said, “The family kept persevering.  Some felt silly believing in some Gypsy curse.”</p><p>“Granted, living your life thinking your family’s under a curse seems like making life tougher than it needs to be.”</p><p>“It looks as though some family members just ignored the whole thing.”</p><p>“Let me guess, they met with untimely deaths?”</p><p>Sara scanned the page. “A few did, but most lived normal, catastrophe-free lives.”</p><p>“I’m almost disappointed.”</p><p>Sara smiled. “Here’s something that should pique your interest.  Abigail’s Aunt Alice proposed a séance.”</p><p>John leaned forward. “You’re right; I am piqued.”</p><p>“Or peak-ed.”</p><p>“Ha, ha.”</p><p>Sara started to read:</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div><i>October 31, 1876</i><p>
  <i>Aunt Alice proposed a séance to speak to the spirit of Emily, who hanged herself from the oak tree in the backyard.  I consented to take part as I wished to find out why she did such a thing.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>A spiritualist was engaged and arrived on All Hallows Eve.  Her name was Madame Miranda Minton, a middle-aged woman dressed like any other matron in Cloverdale.  Her brown hair was flecked with gray and pulled back into a bun.  She wore modest jet earrings and a cameo brooch.  Her black shawl was fringed and she said, “Is the table set?” Aunt Alice replied that it was, and we went into the dining room.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Aunt Celia and Grandmother Anne were already there.  The table was set with candles, and Madame Miranda directed us to sit down and hold hands to create a circle.  All gaslights were turned off and the candles lit to create a shadowy atmosphere.  We waited in trembling anticipation for what was to come.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Madame Miranda is a medium.  She said on this night of All Hallows Eve, she had an excellent chance of contacting Emily.  She spoke an invocation to the spirits and after several minutes, a cold gust of wind made the candles sputter.  All the windows were closed, so where was the wind coming from?  It was a terrifying moment.  But it was only the beginning.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Madame Miranda began to speak in a different voice.  It was Emily speaking through her.  Aunt Alice asked her questions, things only Emily would know.  She answered correctly.  If Madame Miranda is a fraud, she is a brilliant one.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <b>“Yes, Alice, I killed myself.  I could not bear the weight of the Biggsby Curse.  I could not live anymore in this world.”</b>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>They were chilling words.  Such despair in her voice!  My heart ached for her. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Are you sure, Emily?  You were not forced?” asked Aunt Alice.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>
    <b>“No, it was my own choice.  I’m sorry.”</b>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>My heart was beating wildly.  Wind howled outside the house, moaning like a ghost.  I could feel Aunt Celia’s hand trembling.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>A loud crash startled us.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div>A loud crack of thunder made Sara and John jump.  Lighting flashed and Sara nearly dropped the journal as more thunder shook the house.<p>“What the hell?” John exclaimed as he jumped up off the couch.</p><p>Sara ran to the French doors. “It’s wild out there!”</p><p>John joined her at the doors.  Outside in the garden, branches swayed as rain came down in sheets and leaves swirled around in strong winds.  Lightning illuminated the chaotic scene, arcing across the sky in jagged patterns.  They watched in stunned silence.</p><p>Finally John asked, “When did this kick up?”</p><p>“While we were captivated by the journal, but it must have come up quickly.”</p><p>“Good thing Bert and Ernie are in the stables.  The carriage, too.”</p><p>“Yes, they’ll be safe, but what about us?”</p><p>“Looks like we get to stay the night in a haunted house.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Oak Tree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The storm reveals something shocking in the backyard.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Creak and groan,</i><br/>
<i>Snap and moan,</i><br/>
<i>The house speaks</i><br/>
<i>As it creaks.</i>
  </p>
</div><br/><p><b>Marielle Morningstar</b><br/>
<b><i>"Spooks In The Wind"</i></b><br/>
<b>1862 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
“Great,” Sara said. “Stuck here in this moldering old mansion in a massive storm.”</p><p>“Fun times, huh?” John asked with a grin, but he glanced over his shoulder at the dark hall.</p><p>“Well, isn’t this just peachy.”</p><p>“Like cobbler.”</p><p>She lightly rapped him in the stomach with the journal. “So where are we going to sleep?”</p><p>“Plenty of bedrooms.”</p><p>“The dust alone will clog our heads.”</p><p>“We could always share Bert and Ernie’s accommodations.”</p><p>Sara rolled her eyes. “It’s a little early to retire.  How about finding out what happened to the séance?” </p><p>“Let’s.  You read divinely.”</p><p>She hit him with the journal again and they sat back down on the couch.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div><i>We all jumped at the sound, looking around fearfully.  Madame Miranda, or Emily, commanded us, “Don’t break the circle!” It was unlikely, as we were frozen with fear.  We heard loud moans and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.  What was going on?</i><p>
  <i>Aunt Celia looked ready to faint, and I cannot say I blame her.  I felt the same way.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I felt something brush against my back.  I stiffened and began to pray.  What dark forces have been unleashed?  I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out.  The candles sputtered one final time and went out.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div>“Wow!  What happened next?” John asked.<p>Sara turned the page. “Oh, no.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The rest of the pages are blank!”</p><p>“What!” John took the journal and saw for himself. “Maybe there’s another journal in the bookcase.”</p><p>They searched and John lit the lantern.  The storm had darkened the day, and now the afternoon was waning.  It would soon be Halloween Night.</p><p>Sara disliked the idea of staying here all night, but there were really no such things as ghosts.  Right?</p><p>“How frustrating!  We’ll never know what happened now.”</p><p>“Could it all be just fiction?” Sara asked.</p><p>“Hmm, never thought of that.  Let me look at the journal again.” John studied it. “Hard to tell, but I doubt it.  If she wanted to write a fiction about the séance, she probably would have done so in a separate book.”</p><p>“I think you’re right.”</p><p>The storm was continuing in its full fury.  Sara felt a shiver go down her spine.</p><p>
  <i>Stop it!  Don’t be one of those silly females that men are so found of declaring as our state of being, swooning and shaking.</i>
</p><p>John was not one of those men, but she was not about to even suggest to him that she was one of those women.  She was a former member of the New York City Police Department, one of the team that had caught multiple murderers, and was now a private investigator.  She was strong, not some silly, swooning female.</p><p>John threw up his hands in frustration. “We can take a look in the morning with fresh eyes.”</p><p>“I suppose you’re right.” Sara wanted to delay going upstairs as long as possible.</p><p>“I’m tired.  Ready to go to bed?”</p><p>Sara squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.” She knew she sounded like a condemned prisoner going to the electric chair, but so be it. </p><p>They stopped in the foyer to get the second lantern and headed upstairs.  Lightning flashed through the stained-glass window, startling both of them.</p><p>“That’s some show by Mother Nature,” said John, grabbing the balustrade to steady himself.  He did not fancy falling down these stairs just because lightning had set him off-balance. </p><p>They inspected the bedrooms and chose the least musty of them, which Sara commented was not saying much.</p><p>“Dare we undress?” John asked.</p><p>“I’m not going to try and sleep in a dress, especially one with ruffles.”</p><p>“At least you ditched the corset.”</p><p>“You bet I wouldn’t try to sleep in that.”</p><p>“I hear some caberets in Paris feature corsets and fishnet stockings in their acts.” </p><p>“And a few places in the Tenderloin.”</p><p>John grinned. “I plead the Fifth.”</p><p>“Smart man.”</p><p>“Well, let’s get to it, then.” John removed his suit jacket and Sara glanced out the window at the backyard.  A flash of lightning illuminated the yard and a large oak tree.</p><p>“John!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Look!”</p><p>John’s jaw dropped as he saw a body swinging from a branch. “What the hell?”</p><p>“We have to cut her down!”</p><p>The couple ran down the staircase to the kitchen and out the back door into the driving rain.  They skidded to a halt in front of the tree.</p><p>They stared at it for several seconds, getting thoroughly soaked. “Look around,” John said after tearing his eyes from the empty branch.</p><p>They stumbled around in the storm, treading on wet leaves and scratched by bushes.  They met back at the tree and grasped hands, running back to the house.  They burst into the kitchen, coughing and gasping, completely drenched.</p><p>“We both saw the body,” Sara said.</p><p>“Hanging from the tree.”</p><p>“An oak tree.”</p><p>John pushed the wet hair out of his eyes. “Like the one Emily Biggsby hanged herself from.”</p><p>“I’d bet it’s the very tree.” Sara sneezed.</p><p>“Come on, Detective, let’s get you into bed.”</p><p>“That sounds suggestive, Mr. Moore.”</p><p>“I hope so, Mrs. Moore.”</p><p>They carefully made their way through the dark house and back up to the bedroom.</p><p>“It’s a miracle we didn’t tumble down the steps without our lanterns,” John said.</p><p>“The lightning helped.  Adrenaline does funny things, too.” Sara went to the window.  The oak tree’s branches swayed in the wind. “Can we get any sleep?” she wondered.</p><p>“Let’s try.”</p><p>They undressed and climbed into bed after snapping the sheets to get rid of the dust.</p><p>“Sheets only.  The blankets are hopeless,” Sara said firmly.</p><p>“I won’t argue with that.”</p><p>Gingerly they climbed into bed.  The lanterns were off, and they snuggled together under the lone sheet.  Despite their odd experience, they were tired enough to fall asleep.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div>Sara came awake, aware of John’s warm embrace.  She mentally rolled over and was almost asleep again when she heard a loud creak.  She listened but decided that it was just an old house’s noise.  She was just about to drift off again and another creak sounded.  Sara opened her eyes and saw a shadow move in the hall.<p>She sat up and grabbed her gun off the nightstand.  John awoke and muttered, “Wha’s going on?”</p><p>“Someone’s out in the hall,” Sara whispered.</p><p>That woke him up and he sat up, grabbing his own gun off the nightstand on his side of the bed.  John and Sara watched and listened, and they heard another creak.</p><p>They climbed out of bed, aware they were only in their nightclothes, but there was no time to dress.  Besides, their clothes were still wet.  They cautiously eased out into the hall.</p><p>They storm was starting to move away, the thunder and lightning receding but heavy rains and wind still pelting the grounds.  John went back and lit a lantern and let its light shine in the hallway.</p><p>The hall was empty and John said, “No one.”</p><p>Sara stepped out in the hall and the boards creaked. “Someone was here.”</p><p>“I still think it’s just the house settling.”</p><p>“I saw a shadow move!”</p><p>“Honey, shadows move all the time.  Listen, we’re both a little spooked by the oak three incident.” Sara remained stubbornly silent. “All right, we’ll check around.”</p><p>They went through the bedrooms but found nothing.  John yawned. “Let’s get some sleep.”</p><p>Sara was unconvinced but she returned with John back to their room.  John climbed into bed after shutting down the lantern. “You coming to bed?”</p><p>Sara sighed. “Might as well.” She was tired and really was not eager to do a full-house search.  She got into bed and pulled the sheet up over both of them.</p><p>John kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”</p><p>Sara yawned and snuggled close to John.  They fell asleep as thunder rumbled in the distance.</p><p>In the hallway, the shadows moved.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A cold room is only a harbinger of haunting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Cold air</i><br/>
<i>Creates crystals</i><br/>
<i>Of ice.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>So nice.</i>
  </p>
</div><br/><p><b>Ellen Kendall Makepiece</b><br/>
<b><i>“Nature”</i></b><br/>
<b>1892 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
Sara awoke, shivering.  Apparently the sheet was not enough.  John’s body warmth was still pleasant, but he was no doubt uncomfortable, too.  She opened her eyes and groaned.  It was still night, and another storm was approaching.  Would this night <i>ever</i> end?</p><p>It was absolutely frigid in here, more like subzero winter cold than a cool autumn evening.  Her heart began to pound.</p><p>John awoke. “Why is it so cold in here?”</p><p>“Ghostly visitations?”</p><p>“Ugh.” John rubbed his arms. “I guess this long underwear isn’t enough.”</p><p>“Try wearing a chemise.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’d look good in one, or at least not as good as you.”</p><p>“Ha, ha.”</p><p>They both froze at the sound of moaning.  They both reached for their guns and threw on their coats as they got out of bed.  They put on their shoes and braced themselves for a search again.</p><p>They methodically searched the second floor with the lanterns, pausing in the nursery.  A rocking horse began to move as thunder rumbled.</p><p>“Great, another storm’s coming,” John grumbled.</p><p>Sara shivered. “It’s cold, but not like our room.”</p><p>“Maybe we should stop the stealth.”</p><p>A smile spread slowly across her face. “Okay, let’s go.”</p><p>They stepped out into the hallway and John said in a loud voice, “Okay, spirits, come out, come out, wherever you are!”</p><p>Sara smirked but kept her eyes on the hall, holding her lantern and gun at the ready.  The silence was eerie, punctuated by the rumbles of the new approaching storm.</p><p>“Maybe the ghosts are as afraid of us as we are of them,” John joked.</p><p>“Trust me, they aren’t afraid.”</p><p>John hitched his shoulders. “Let’s go downstairs.”</p><p>Lightning began to flash.  John and Sara held on tightly to the balustrade as they walked down the staircase.  Suddenly the lanterns went out and Sara screamed as she was pushed.  The lantern clattered to the floor while John tried to catch her in the dark.</p><p>“Sara?” He found her arm but her weight pulled him off-balance and they both crashed to the floor painfully.</p><p>They lay stunned, trying to catch their breaths.  Finally John asked, “What happened?”</p><p>“Someone pushed me.”</p><p>“Or something.”</p><p>Sara shivered as a thunderclap rattled the house. “If there are no ghosts…”</p><p>“…then someone’s in here.”</p><p>They took quick personal inventories but were free of severe injuries.  They got to their feet and tried their lanterns again.</p><p><i>“Now</i> they work,” John grumbled.</p><p>“Better than not.” Sara studied the stairs. “Look.”</p><p>“Footprints in the dust, and neither of them our footprints.”</p><p>Sara grinned. “So much for paranormal spookiness.”</p><p>“Don’t get too excited.  We saw a woman hanging from the oak tree, and our room was unnaturally cold.”</p><p>“Right now I only care about a flesh-and-blood intruder.  He tried to kill us!”</p><p>Sara stormed up the stairs.  John followed her, silently cursing the situation.</p><p>More footprints appeared in the dust of the hallway, leading to the south wing.  Sara was on a mission, glad to sink her teeth into something concrete.  She followed the footprints to the sewing room.</p><p>There was no one there.  John shone his lantern into a corner. “Breadcrumbs.”</p><p>“A horehound candy.” Sara smiled at her husband. “Ghosts don’t eat bread and horehound candy.”</p><p>John was still thinking about the oak tree and the frigid room, but he said nothing.  Evidence of a human presence was undeniable.</p><p>“Now what, Madame Sherlock?”</p><p>“Well, Watson, I would say…<i>look out!”</i></p><p>Sara pushed John out of the way as an ax flew inches by his head and wedged into the wall, vibrating with the force of it.</p><p>John turned out and ran out into the hall and was slammed back into the sewing room by a raging mountain of a man.  Dressed in rags, his eyes were wild and his face obscured by a bristly, black beard.  Long, black hair stuck out wildly and a meaty fist pounded into John’s chest. </p><p>Sara shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”</p><p>The attacker ignored the warning and jumped onto John.  The winded reporter had no chance to fight back.  Sara shot at the mountainous man, who somehow dodged the bullet and ran from the room.</p><p>“John, are you all right?” cried Sara.</p><p>He coughed and gasped. “Yeah, I’m fine.  I think Laszlo might have another subject to interview.”</p><p>“He does seem a few cards short of a deck.”</p><p>“Ha, ha.” John groaned as Sara helped him up. “Which way did he go?”</p><p>“To the right.”</p><p>They went out into the hall and ran, hopeful of finding the Ghost of <i>Pine Grove.</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Fog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fog turns deadly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
<i>On a foggy night,</i><br/>
<i>The imagination</i><br/>
<i>Takes flight.</i></p>
</div><p><br/>
</p><p><b>Kelly Kasey</b><br/>
<b><i>“Nature’s Way”</i></b><br/>
<b>1846 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
“Come out!  We know you’re here!” Sara shouted. “We won’t hurt you.  Give yourself up!”</p><p>They heard a noise in the kitchen and went straight there.  The kitchen door slammed shut and the Moores followed.</p><p>It began to rain.  <i>Of course,</i> Sara thought.</p><p>“Mister, it’s okay.  We won’t hurt you.”</p><p>“Somehow I don’t think he’s buying it,” John said dryly. “And why is it raining again?”</p><p>“There!” Sara pointed as a flash of lightning exposed their quarry.  The wild man saw them and fled deeper into the woods.</p><p>Sara and John ran but lost him.  Wind whipped branches around and stung the couple in their hands and faces. </p><p>“We’ll never find him now,” John said. “Let’s go back to the house.”</p><p>Sara hesitated but saw the logic in the situation.  They returned to the mansion before getting drenched this time.  John locked the kitchen door.</p><p>“If our ‘ghost’ wants to get in out of the rain, he can use the barn.” He checked the door handle and was satisfied it was indeed locked.</p><p>“I suppose we can find him tomorrow.” </p><p>“Yes, we can.”</p><p>They returned upstairs to their bedroom and John climbed into bed.  Sara asked, “How can you sleep with an unhinged person out there?”</p><p>“Unless he comes back in, what are we going to do?  Stay up all night?  We locked the doors and checked the windows.  If he smashes a window, we’ll hear it.”</p><p>“While we’re asleep?”</p><p>John rolled out of bed. “We’ll put the dresser in front of the door.  Keep the ghosts out.” </p><p>“Ha, ha.”</p><p>Sara helped John move the piece of furniture.  John dusted off his hands. “He can’t possibly get to us now.”</p><p>Sara stood by the window.  She watched the woods and the swaying underbrush.  No sign of their violent squatter. “I could use some sleep.  And it’s not freezing in here anymore.”</p><p>Sara joined John in bed, their coats draped over a couple of chairs. “This has been quite a night,” she said.</p><p>“Happy Halloween.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, Happy, Happy.”</p><p>John laughed. “Crazy case.”</p><p>Sara sighed. “Ellie will be glad to know her ghost was just a squatter.” She yawned and soon the two of them were asleep despite the storm.</p>
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  <p>&amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp; &amp;</p>
</div>Sara awoke and saw an ax above John’s head as lightning flashed. “John!” she screamed.  She sat up and grabbed her pillow.  The ax began to fall and she blunted the blow with the pillow.<p>John managed to roll out of bed and the ax split the pillowcase.  Feathers spurted up and floated in the air.</p><p>“I don’t see him!” Sara yelled.</p><p>“He must have run out into the hall.”</p><p>“He was able to push that heavy dresser?”</p><p>“Manic strength?”</p><p>A gust of wind blew through the open doorway.  Moans drifted on the wind and Sara grabbed her gun. “I’ve had it with this guy!” She dashed out of the room.</p><p>“Sara!”</p><p>John followed her down the hall, cursing that he had forgotten to bring a lantern.  Careening around in the dark could get an ankle twisted or worse.</p><p>“The stairs!” Sara shouted.</p><p>Sara and John clattered down the stairs as fog drifted ahead of them.  Reaching the foot of the staircase, the cool mist swirled around their legs.</p><p>“Where’s this fog coming from?” John demanded.</p><p>“I don’t know.  Where’s the squatter?”</p><p>“Did you see him?”</p><p>“Who else could it have been?”</p><p>“A big guy like that had to be seen!”</p><p>“Yes, but…” </p><p>The fog was growing colder.  John swished his hand around but the tendrils of fog began to cling to his legs. “Sara…”</p><p>She coughed and said, “To the backyard!”</p><p>They clutched each other’s hands and gritted their teeth as they walked slowly and laboriously toward the kitchen as if underwater.</p><p><i>It’s like a dream.  I can barely move,</i> thought John.</p><p>“J…John.” Sara’s tongue was thick. “What’s…going on?”</p><p>It was too much effort to answer.  It was getting very cold again.  With a Herculean effort, John and Sara stepped into the kitchen and unbolted the door.  They were unsure of why they needed to get out of the house, but some instinct drove them out into the rain. </p><p>The storm was at its height, the wind whipping heavy rain into their faces as they took great gulps of air, coughing and gasping.  They were moving normally again and ran to the barn.  Quickly entering the building, they slammed and bolted the door behind them.  They staggered to the center of the barn and looked at each other.</p><p>“What was all that about?” John asked.</p><p>“I really don’t know.” Sara pushed wet hair off her forehead.</p><p>John leaned against a post, crossing his arms. “Are you sure this is all our squatter’s doing?”</p><p>Sara shrugged. “Could be, if we were affected by some kind of chemical.”</p><p>“Come on, Sara.  Does the guy who attacked us look like a mad scientist?”</p><p>“Mad, but no scientist.”</p><p>John sighed. “We keep jumping from the frying pan into the fire and back again.”</p><p>“This is one long night.”</p><p>“That’s an understatement.”</p><p>Sara shivered. “We need a plan.”</p><p>“How about tossing a match?”</p><p>“Huh, let me think about it,” Sara said contemplatively.</p><p>John grinned. “I don’t think your client would appreciate it.”</p><p>“If she spent the night here, she’d change her mind.”</p><p>“So now what do we do?”</p><p>Sara went to the doors and peered through a knothole. “John…”</p><p>“What now?”</p><p>She stepped back and John looked took her place. “What?”</p><p>A light was showing in the dining room.  Without a word, they headed for the house.</p>
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</div>The dining room was glowing from a dozen lit candles.  Shadows hovered at the edge of the light.  Sara and John stood in the hallway, eyes wide as a low voice could be heard chanting.  It was very much like the scene set in Abigail’s journal.<p>John grasped Sara’s hand.  They could tell the dining room was chilly.</p><p>“Come to us, spirits, come to us.”</p><p>“Madame Miranda, is that you?” John whispered.</p><p>They shielded their eyes as the light grew brighter and a strong gust of wind from the dining room nearly knocked them over.  They clutched each other as the chanting grew louder and the wind swept them down the hall as glass shattered and someone screamed…</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dreams?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dreams or haunting?</p>
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  <p>
    <i>Dreams are wisps</i><br/>
<i>Of reality,</i><br/>
<i>Swirling like fog</i><br/>
<i>In the mind.</i>
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</div><br/><p><b>Agnes Skolnar</b><br/>
<b><i>“Dreams”</i></b><br/>
<b>1889 C.E.</b></p><p><br/>
Sara awoke, a slow coming-to that was peaceful and benevolent until she sat up abruptly with John coming awake in the same moment.  Sunlight streamed in through the window, dust motes dancing wildly in the beam of light.</p><p>“Wow,” Sara said. “I had quite a dream last night.”</p><p>“So did I.” John shook his head. “It was pretty weird.”</p><p>Sara climbed out of bed and went over to the window. “It’s like the world was swept clean.”</p><p>“It <i>was</i> a wild storm.”</p><p>Sara’s eyes strayed to the oak tree.  It just looked like an ordinary tree.</p><p>“I’d better go out and water and feed Bert and Ernie.” John rolled out of bed and put on his shirt and cravat. </p><p>Sara picked up her dress from over a chair.  John helped her put it on.</p><p>“Hmph, I usually help you off with your clothes, not on,” he said.</p><p>Sara pretended to adjust his cravat. “You can help me take it off tonight, I promise.”</p><p>He smiled and kissed her. “I’ll be right back.” He put on his pants and shirt and slipped on his shoes, using a buttonhook to button them.  He left to see to the horses.</p><p>Sara took her time dressing.  She went over the dream before it faded away, as dreams were apt to do.</p><p>
  <i>I’d read from the journal about the séance, and combined with the storm and Halloween created a doozy of a dream.  Or nightmare, in this case.</i>
</p><p>She buttoned her shoes with the buttonhook as John had done.  She stood from the bed and went back to the window, roving her gaze around the outbuildings.  She frowned.  The smokehouse door was ajar.</p><p>Sara went downstairs and exited the house via the kitchen door.  The tall grass glittered with heavy morning dew and she sidestepped puddles left from last night’s storm.</p><p>She entered the stables.  John was finishing up with the horses and said, “We should be able to get back to the city bright and early.”</p><p>“We need to check out the smokehouse first.”</p><p>John lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds like my dream.”</p><p>“We can compare notes on nightmares when we get back home, but there’s something fishy about the smokehouse.”</p><p>“Fishy?  More like porky.  Or bacon-y.”</p><p>Sara rolled her eyes. “You ought to be in vaudeville.”</p><p>“I’d be a headliner.”</p><p>“You’re not one of the Four Cohans, you know.”</p><p>John did an impromptu dance. “I’d wow ‘em with my soft-shoe routine.”</p><p>“Oh, dear.”</p><p>John laughed. “C’mon, to the smokehouse!”</p><p>Birds were signing this morning after the storm.  Every outbuilding looked a little shabbier in the daylight.</p><p>John put a finger to his lips, Sara nodding.  Caution was the watchword.  They opened the smokehouse door wider.</p><p>Sunlight filtered into the dark interior of the smokehouse, still faintly redolent of smoked meat.  Shadows moved in the corner.</p><p>“Who’s in there?” Sara demanded.</p><p>Someone shuffled in the dark.  John stepped inside. “It’s all right.  No one’s going to hurt you.”</p><p>Sara was right behind John and saw a burly man huddled in the corner.  Shaggy, dark hair and beard obscured most of his face and he wore rags.</p><p>He looks familiar.</p><p>Her dream was fading, but she was sure that she had seen him in it.  But what role had he played?</p><p>John was staring at the frightened man.  He shook it off and resumed talking to him again.</p><p>“I’ll get the constable from town,” Sara said. “You stay here with our friend.  Looks like we found our ghost.”</p><p>“I’ve seen him before.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“I’m not sure.”</p><p>“Well, keep thinking.  I’ll be back.”</p><p>Sara hitched Bert and Ernie up to the carriage and went into town.</p>
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</div>John talked quietly to the raggedy man.  The feeling of familiarity persisted.<p>He remembered last night’s dream.  The memory was somewhat disjointed, as memories of dreams can be, and he was sure this man had been in his nightmare.</p><p>Odd, that I would dream about him before I ever saw him.</p><p>He remembered the account of the séance in Abigail’s journal and shivered a little.  The entire estate was spooky.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” The man whimpered.  John took an apple out of his pocket, intended for the horses, but this man needed it more.  He held out the apple.</p><p>The man hesitated but hunger won out.  He grabbed the apple and devoured it like a starving man, which he may well have been.</p><p>John glanced back at the house.  It looked like a sadly-neglected house but he could not help thinking about Poe’s <i>House of Usher.</i>  Was it really decaying?</p><p>He thought he saw a flicker of light in the dining room.  He dismissed it as a trick of the light and returned his attention to the raggedy man.</p><p>“Raggedy Andy,” he murmured. “Laszlo could help you.  He’s a brilliant alienist.” He knew Laszlo’s compassion would help this poor soul.</p><p>A loud crack! startled them both.  Andy shrank back while John went to the doorway.  He scanned the yard and spotted a large branch under the oak tree.</p><p>
  <i>That oak tree.</i>
</p><p>“Well, Andy, that’ tree’s always in the center of things around here.”</p><p>It had been chilling to hear Sara read about the suicide at the oak tree.  He knew that people were shocked by suicide, but after all he had seen in Five Points and the Tenderloin in the city, he was surprised that more people did not take the plunge.  The slums were places that bred despair.</p><p>But even the rich could despair.  Mental illness did not care how much money was in your bank account.</p><p>He tried to relax but he had to stay alert guarding Andy.  Though admittedly, there was not much to guard.  Andy was not much of a threat, though that could change in an instant.  A big man like Andy could be dangerous without meaning to be.</p><p>John remembered fragments of his dream.  Mostly he remembered a sense of something sinister, and that feeling was still with him, clinging like fog to his rumpled clothes.</p><p>
  <i>Like last night.</i>
</p><p>He remembered that part of the dream: fog showing up in the house, cold and wispy, and some weird chanting.</p><p>“Dreams can be strange, Andy.  I have a friend who likes to interpret dreams.  I bet he would have a field day with what I dreamed up last night.  I bet Sara’s dream was crazy, too.  I’ll have to ask her what she dreamed.”</p><p>He kept up the light chatter and Andy seemed calm.  John felt sorry for the guy.  Big, child-like men always seemed especially vulnerable.</p><p>Eventually, the sound of carriage wheels rumbled up the driveway.  Andy whimpered and curled up into a ball.</p><p>“It’s okay, buddy, I won’t let them hurt you.”</p><p>Sara led three men to the smokehouse.  A man dressed as a constable said, “Mr. Moore, we’ll take care of things now.” Two burly men dressed as orderlies were right behind him.</p><p>“You’re scaring him,” John protested. “Let me get him into the ambulance.”</p><p>Constable Milgrew’s handlebar mustache twitched, whether in annoyance or something else, John could not tell. “All right, give it a try.”</p><p>John crouched down in front of Andy. “These men are going to take you to a place where there’s plenty of food and a place to sleep.”</p><p>Andy looked up, fear and trust warring in his brown eyes.</p><p>John smiled. “It’s okay.  My friend Dr. Laszlo Kriezler will be coming to see you.” He held out his hand.</p><p>Andy started at John for a minute, then slowly took his hand.  John helped him stand up.  He assisted the ragged man to the ambulance wagon and helped him in.</p><p>“Constable, Dr. Laszlo Kriezler will arrive soon to perform an evaluation of this man.  He may just be mentally feeble and not a candidate for the asylum.”</p><p>“Never heard of ‘im.”</p><p>“Dr. Laszlo Kriezler heads the Kriezler Institute in the city and consults with the New York City Police Department.  He worked closely with Colonel Theodore Roosevelt when he was Police Commissioner.” John was lucky that Laszlo was still in the country.  He had been scheduled to leave with his lady, Dr. Karen Stratton, to go to Vienna at the end of September, but something had come up at the Institute.  He would be leaving soon, however.</p><p>Sara hid her smile.  John had pulled out all the stops, determined that the poor soul in the ambulance would be treated well while waiting for Laszlo to see him.</p><p>Constable Milgrew had gotten the message. “Yes, sir,” he said as he climbed up to sit next to the orderly taking up the reins.  The other orderly had gone into the ambulance with Andy.</p><p>As the ambulance was driven away, Sara asked, “His name’s Andy, huh?”</p><p>“It’s my name for him.  It seemed to fit with the description of raggedy.”</p><p>Sara shook her head. “A writer’s mind at work.” John grinned. “Well, I can make my report to Ellie.” She started walking toward the house, pausing as she saw the large branch lying under the oak tree.</p><p>“That was strange, that account of the hanging in the journal,” John said. “And Abigail and her family supposedly contacted Emily’s spirit.”</p><p>“Uh, yes.” Sara sounded uneasy. “Are you ready to leave?”</p><p>“Our brownstone never looked so good.”  They turned away from the oak tree and went into the house, going upstairs and gathering their things from the bedroom.</p><p>“This room looks worse in the daylight,” Sara said.</p><p>“The dust motes agree,” said John as he observed a sunbeam.</p><p>“Ugh.” Sara sneezed.</p><p>They headed downstairs.  As they passed the dining room, John glanced in. “Wonder how spooky this place looked during the séance.”</p><p>“With flickering candles?  Probably very spooky.”</p><p>“Fog and all.”</p><p>“Fog?”</p><p>“Yeah, I dreamed about fog last night.”</p><p>“Huh, so did I.”</p><p>“Must have been the night for it.”</p><p>They left the mansion and Sara locked the door.  John strapped the box holding the lanterns and guns to the back of the carriage and they were off to the city.</p><p>“You know, I’ve been remembering more of the dream,” Sara said. “What was yours about?”</p><p>As Bert and Ernie clopped down the driveway, a strong gust of wind blew, the oak tree swaying and creaking as a ghostly figure appeared in the window of the dining room holding a candle, which blew out when a strong wind gusted through the dining room.  Tendrils of fog wound around the mansion, obscuring the house on a bright November day. </p><p>_______________________________________________</p><p>Was it a dream?  Do two people ever dream the exact same dream?  Or is <i>Pine Grove</i> really haunted? If so, was that reality too much for Sara and John, and they have convinced themselves it was just a dream?  </p><p>I leave the decision to you, dear reader, but I know what I think! ;)</p>
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